


Stagnation (unecessary, empty roads of redemption)

by peachygreen (fairiesbyte)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bigender Character, F/F, F/M, Gen, Guilt, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairiesbyte/pseuds/peachygreen
Summary: The brusque sea wind stung, whipping long, fiery red hair in ribbons across the foggy summer sky as Ginny sat panting in the aftermath of a nightmare.  She flung herself towards the edge of the small fishing boat and emptied her stomach of what meager lunch she had into the churning Icelandic waves.  She leaned heavily against the sturdy iron railing, wiping the sweat from her forehead and averting her eyes from the other passengers.
or
They were too young to go through a war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this may need a bit of an explanation. I wrote this story for NaNoWriMo last year, but I never finished it. I'm now going through and reworking it until I'm happy with it. But the premise is still a bit confusing.  
> Essentially this takes place after the war, but Ginny and Neville had a thing and Neville died. While the Golden Trio was at Hogwarts Ginny and Neville and luna didn't stay at school, they were working for the order. They got some new info that the mermaids had special magic that would help them, Ginny went there and learned their magic songs. Now the war's over though and Ginny has some major PTSD. She basically blames herself for a lot of stuff that's not actually her fault, and here's where the gender thing comes in.   
> I don't actually know that much about gender and all of that, so tell me if anything I write is offensive, but for the purposes of this story, Ginny's body is essentially trying to protect her. Whenever she feels insecure or guilty or scared, her magic turns her into an old man.  
> I know, that's weird.  
> But hopefully that explains a little bit before you actually get into the story. Hope you like it!

The brusque sea wind stung, whipping long, fiery red hair in ribbons across the foggy summer sky as Ginny sat panting in the aftermath of a nightmare.She flung herself towards the edge of the small fishing boat and emptied her stomach of what meager lunch she had into the churning Icelandic waves.She leaned heavily against the sturdy iron railing, wiping the sweat from her forehead and averting her eyes from the other passengers. 

She didn’t need this.She didn’t want this.She’d come to get away from this.These eyes that followed her, with judgement, with pity.But it seemed as if, even here, in the middle of the sea in between countries she’d never set foot in before this past week, anonymity was a dream that escaped Ginny’s desperate grasp. 

She levered herself into a standing position and wrapped her coat tighter around her, pulling the threadbare sleeves tighter around her pale hands.She felt her bones creak and shift, and a strange feeling in her scalp as though her hair was drawing back into itself.Though no one was looking his way, Ginny still felt eyes upon him, but that didn’t stop him from attempting to regain his dignity and sitting somewhat delicately upon the bench next to his things and staring out at the icy waves.He tried to clear his mind, focussing only on the water, the waves. 

Waves of calm. 

The waves on the beach next to his home in Massachusetts, his old home now. 

These waves that carried him away from his old life. 

Endless waves of enemies rushing towards him. 

Waves of dark magic from his own hands. 

Waves of all-consuming anger. 

Waves of helplessness. 

Waves of inescapable despair. 

Waves of terrible, gut-wrenching fear.

Ginny sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands, pressing his long, thin fingers into his closed eyes, trying to block out the images that threatened to overwhelm him.Thinking, thinking was the problem, and the problem was that he didn’t know how to stop thinking.Ginny had never been good at Occlumency, had never been much good at anything that required a great amount of focus to be honest.Neville had been extremely talented in Occlumency (but he wasn’t here, would never be here again) but Ginny certainly couldn’t go to him for help.

Ginny clenched his fists and his nails bit into the soft heel of his hand.Those eight small points of pain stung and helped focus his mind away from things he didn’t want to think about. 

When Ginny uncurled his hands six hours later, the eight cuts stung in the cold air and he flexed his hands to stave the soreness in his joints.

 

***

 

It was only a short train ride from the port to the town of _Vel Falinn_ and from there only an hour hike to her house by the glen (or _dalur_ , Ginny supposed, if she got into the spirit of things.)Ginny hardly remembered traveling from the town to her new (or old, if you got particular) house, her mind lost in the excitement of being on her own.There was a hop in her step as she was overcome with a strange fit of youthful exuberance.Everything would change now, she was a new person, no longer burdened by her past.

Ginny’s smile dimmed as she climbed over the ridge and saw her new home.A lone grass-covered cabin in the middle of acres and acres of flat ground, no cover, no protection.Ginny barely felt her bones creak and shift. 

He wrapped his coat tighter around himself and clenched his fists.He would need to craft some wards straight away.Protection songs immediately sprung to the front of his mind, but Ginny pushed them back (he wouldn’t be singing today, probably not ever again, too much darkness had tainted his songs.) 

He wished for his wand, but since that had been broken in the war he shoved his hand into his backpack and dug around for the book he brought for this exact situation.Ginny strode forward and quickly knelt to the ground, unhooking the knife from his belt and frantically flipping through the book.He muttered to himself, dragging his finger along the page until he found the stave _for keeping people out_.He carved it over and over into the cold ground, digging the knife deep until he was sure that it would work.

Ginny hardly remembered running back and forth across the property, drawing the symbol in seemingly random places, and more often than not, crossing it out and drawing an _against all evil_ instead.He also scattered an occasional make yourself invisible across the grounds as well (he had to be sure he would be safe, that no one could reach him, no one could find him, no one could hurt him.)

 

***

 

Ginny sat in an old, squashy, moth-eaten chair staring at the door covered with _against all evil_ staves (he didn’t remember writing the staves, he didn’t remember sitting in the chair, he didn’t even remember coming into the house, but as he sat staring at the door that would protect him he felt the Gordian Knot in his stomach unfurl and his fingers lengthen and thin out.)It was quite lucky that Ginny’s grandparents had left quickly six years earlier to join the war effort (don’t think about the war, don’t think about your grandparents, don’t think about their glassy eyes staring up at you from their funeral pyre as they were pushed across the Great Lake, don’t think about the papers hailing them as heroes when you know it was all your fault) after all, they hadn’t had time to pack up and now she didn’t have to buy new furniture.The oak furniture brought back memories of summers at this cabin in her youth (or memories of the burrow burning.)The kitchen was still functional — even after so many years of inactivity, though that was probably due to the magic imbued in its parts — enough to make a pot of tea.Ginny’s dinner consisted of a bag of crisps, a few strips of beef jerky, and three cups of tea, which may have contributed to her rough night.

 

***

 

Ginny woke up the next morning barely rested, though she couldn’t remember her nightmares as well as she usually could which she took to mean that they hadn’t been nightmares at all.There was a skip in her step as she made her tea and left the house, despite her poor nights sleep (not that she wasn’t used to wakefulness, there had been nights in months past where staying up all night had been necessary, as strategy sessions didn’t usually have a time limit.)Ginny carefully shut the door behind her and brushed her hand against the roughly carved staves (more like hacked, rough lines and shavings scattered across the front step) for reassurance and adjusted her coat around herself. 

As she hiked up her backpack and set off across the grounds toward the woods that would lead her to _Vel Falinn_ she spotted a smudge near the trees.As she got closer she realized that it was a fox.A fox sitting there and watching her.A strange feeling prickled along the back of Ginny’s neck but she scratched it away, it was nothing.Just a fox.

Ginny attempted to amuse herself by naming the trees she passed.She knew almost all of them, a remnant from a childhood spent playing trivia games with Percy.But as she passed a birch, she noticed a red tail disappear around its base.

The prickling feeling crawled down her arms and Ginny rubbed her arms and explained it to herself by saying she as cold, just cold, nothing else.But soon Ginny kept catching glimpses of tails and ears and little black noses (they’re just foxes, nothing to worry about, multiple foxes because there are foxes in Iceland, definitely not one fox who’s following you that’s crazy.)She felt her legs growing feebler and joints swelling as he pushed himself to move faster (not because he was running from anything, that would be crazy, he was just in a hurry to run some errands) and soon enough Ginny reached the edge of the town.

The transition from rugged countryside to quaint small town happened slowly then all at once.Small colored houses popped up amongst the trees seamlessly faded into a patchwork mess of lopsided houses bumping into one another, which contrasted with the wide streets.Within the first few minutes of walking Ginny noticed houses in five different shades of red (he steadfastly ignored the small orange tail he kept spotting in his peripheral vision, after all, there wasn’t anything there when he fully turned around.He was just imagining things.) 

Despite the fact that there didn’t seem to be many people about at that time of day, Ginny felt exposed and anxious, he should've carved a sigil on something to bring with him.He pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders (if worst came to worst he could always sing to get himself out of trouble, something inside of him whispered, but Ginny shut that thought down, he wouldn’t be singing any time soon, probably never again.)You’re going to be fine, he told himself, avoiding the flash of orange in the corner of his eye. 

Ginny shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched a little as he walked through the town, passings neighborhoods until he reached his destination. _Góð Tíðindi Fjarðarkaup_ , the sign said, Good Tidings General Store, and Ginny pushed open the peach colored door, bell ringing, hoping it would be that. 

“ _Góðan dag_ ,” came a young voice from behind the counter.

“Uh, good morning,” Ginny replied, voice crackly from disuse.He picked his way through narrow isles of shelves filled with seemingly random items.

“Oh! A Brit, how exciting!” A tan woman popped up from behind the counter, her black hair in disarray.“What brings you to _Vel Falinn_?”She swept a lock of short hair behind her ear.

Ginny adjusted his sweater, “I’ve actually just moved here.I inherited my grandparents’ old house.”

“‘Bout a hour’s walk from here?”Ginny nodded, “You must be talkin’ ‘bout the Wealeys, lovely couple.”

“Yes,” Ginny replied curtly, he didn’t need anymore reminders of the people who missed his grandparents (all your fault.)The shop lady stared at him for a second, seemingly lost in thought then seemed to shake herself.

“Oh where are my manners, I’m Dagmar,” she wiped a thick, dusty hand on her apron before sticking it across the chipping counter.

Ginny placed his hand in hers and gave it a solid, if jerky, shake, “Ginny.” 

Dagmar smiled and pushed her hair behind her ears, “Well Ginny, what can I do you you this fine morning?”

Ginny took the crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it over the counter, “I’m looking for some books on runes.”

 

***

 

The hike back to the cottage seemed a lot longer than the hike there.Having exhausted his knowledge of meaningless tree trivia, Ginny fell back on his old love of literature to keep his mind occupied.

_“Methought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more!_

_Macbeth does murder sleep”—the innocent sleep,_

_Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care,_

_The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,_

_Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,_

_Chief nourisher in life’s feast.”_

He repeated his favorite monologues as he picked his way across the narrow, forest path.He was doing quite a good job keeping his mind off of unpleasant subjects until he came upon a giant tree.The tree in itself wasn't out of the ordinary.What was arresting about it was the figure at the bottom.A small orange fox sat, staring at Ginny with what almost seemed like a smirk on its face.

Ginny stopped short and stared for a minute.After deciding that he didn’t care whether he was hallucinating or not, he knelt down, picked up a large gray stone, and hurled it toward the damn fox as hard as he could.

“Why can’t you just fucking leave me alone!” He cried, his face growing red and his hands clenching with frustration.“Why the hell are you following me?” 

The fox scampered off not the foliage and Ginny ungracefully collapsed into a sitting position and scrubbed his hands over his wrinkled face. 

“And you’re probably just an ordinary fox who isn’t following me, who isn’t doing anything except minding its own business.”He sighed heavily, suddenly feeling four times his age.“And I’ve probably gone crazy.”

 

***

 

Ginny’s white-knuckled hands clutched the edge of her kitchen counter and she bowed her head over the sink.The echoes of porcelain shattering on the floor reminded Ginny of the teacup she’d just carelessly dropped and brought her mid back into focus. 

What was wrong with her?That hadn’t sounded like an explosion at all (don’t be stupid, there aren’t any explosions here, you’re safe, you’re finally safe, not that you deserve it.) 

Ginny sighed and relaxed her muscles, slowly lifting her head, standing up straight, and walking stiffly into the sitting room and perch on the edge of the couch.She rested her tightly folded arms on her knees and carefully wrapped her hands in the edges of her sleeves.She felt her joints ache and creak and change shape as he shifted to gingerly lie down and stare at the cracked ceiling. 

There hadn’t been much to do these past few days (too much time for lying around, too much time for thinking about things that were better left untouched, too much time to remember what you’ve done.)After reading the few books he’d brought with him, Ginny quickly ran out of ways to pass the time .He took walks along the edge of his property (avoiding any foxes he happened to see,) walks through the forest, walks along the stream. 

His boredom finally reached levels where the only way to satisfy its hungry maw was to clean and organize everything he owned he was so tired he collapsed.

After a week, his books were finally ready and he set off into town to retrieve them.

 

***

 

Why was she doing this again?Ginny couldn’t remember. She’d never been great in school, at schoolwork.That had been Hermione’s area.Ginny clenched her fists to try to keep her thoughts from the past, but the only thing that distracted her was the books. 

Though Ginny had never been good at schoolwork she’d always been stubborn, and goddammit, if she’d said she was going to write a book on runes, then she damn well would.

 

***

 

Ginny carved the _protection from evil_ stave on the ground over and over again, but no matter how many times she cut and hacked and dug it into the frozen ground it faded away after she was finished. 

She was overcome with a sort of impotent fear when despite her frantic efforts of protection, she could feel the prickling waves of dark magic moving towards her.She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was there.

Ginny carved even faster.Over and over she moved her hands in the same motion, cutting and cutting and cutting the symbol until it was no longer the ground that she was cutting into, but her own wrists.The blood welled in black rivulets as she hacked protection into her own flesh. 

Ginny heard the same song playing over and over in her head and it wasn’t until after she noticed that she herself was humming it that it was the protection song that the mermaids had taught her.

_“I sing this song however long it takes to keep me safe and warm,_

_the wind is blowing, winter snowing, but I’m always safe below._

_Darkness creeps inside my soul, with goodness in my heart I blow,_

_light into the dark, keep out the evil in my heart.”_

Over and over again, Ginny hummed that song and sometimes another,

( _I am a witch of ancient lore,_

_I petition these trees, and forest floor._

_Converge myself upon this site,_

_spider weaving, power and might._

_Air and Fire, Water and Earth,_

_aid in my quest, I call you forth._

_Aradia, Aradia, I intone,_

_thrice the power you have shone._

_Open my spiral of strength and sorcery,_

_encompass the soul, you have granted me._

_Pentacle of old, stones of deep,_

_protection around, assistance I seek._

_Marry my veins, to this Earth,_

_Cernunno's I summon you forth._

_Steele needles and pins,_

_red blood of sins._

_Buried deep in clandestine dusk,_

_liquid Venus, scent of musk._

_Hear my words from Moon to Moon,_

_cite the Lord & Lady's Rune_

_By the law of three times three,_

_So mote it be…._ )

and the repetition soothed her so much that she hardly noticed that in her frantic carving she had cut off her hands and was now moving the knife through empty air.

Ginny sighed, she was safe now, no one could be hurt anymore.But the hands, limp on the ground, changed before her eyes.Blackness creeped in from under the fingernails, turning he fingertips a sickly black as noxious purple gas seemed to ooze from the pores, propelling the hands into the air.They hovered thee for a moment as Ginny watched in sick, twisted, fascination before seeming shiver and produce more gas as well as black sparks.The fingers shivered and stretched and flexed in a strange dance, seeming to call up dark energy from the earth and push it outward.

A voice sighed from beside her.Ginny whipped her head around and stared open mouthed at her dead grandmother.

“Its such a shame that such a nice girl could turn so dark.Killing her own family, her own boyfriend,” her grandmothers soft face set into sympathetic lines as she tutted, “such a tragedy.”

“Well, technically she didn’t kill them,” another voice said from Ginny’s right side, “it wasn’t really her fault,” Fred shrugged.

Her grandmother shook her head, “Well, they died because of her didn’t they?”

Fred bit his lip, “But she didn’t cause their death.”

“Don’t be naive,” the old woman sighed and Ginny watched horrified as her flesh seemed to burn off of her body, “that’s just something Ginny tells herself because the guilt would eat her alive if she didn’t.”

Fred shrugged as a curse wound ate away a hole in his ear and spread a spidery web of black lines through his veins. 

“Yes,” Ginny’s grandmother, now a body of smoldering muscle, smiled sadly, “without Ginny all of those people never would have died.”

Fred swiveled his blackening eyes toward something behind him, “Oh look, the army’s finally here.”He focused on Ginny, “Its all up to you now Gin.”

 

***

 

Ginny rubbed her cold hands against her forearms scratched raw as she made tea. The sweat on her furrowed brow glistened in the early morning light that filtered through the kitchen window.In her tired state, the soft light seemed pure, cleansing, that the light would scare away any darkness (or maybe she hoped that.Honestly, that darkness was probably dug too far under her skin at this point, Ginny doubted that she’d ever be free of it again.)

Levering her stiff body away from the window she stumbled toward the faded blue cupboards.Ginny rested her head against the door and stared morosely at her depressingly low food supply.Two limp end pieces sat under her gaze from a once full bag of wheat bread.When was the last time she ate?Monday?

Ginny sighed and tugged out the bread, thoroughly checking it for mold before sticking it in the old yellow toaster.She had to go shopping, that was obvious, but this wasn't the type of day she wanted to go shopping on.This was the type of day where she wanted to lay in her warm bed and think about her mistakes.This was the type of day where she wondered about the point of ever getting up again.

Ginny chewed her old toast as she stared out at the trees, entertaining the thought of not going shopping today.She could probably last the rest of the day without food, but she’d be getting pretty hungry around dinner, and by then it would be too late to go to town.Ginny sighed, she could tough it out, but she probably shouldn’t (“take care of yourself, will you promise me that?” an echo of an old voice whispered in the back of her mind.Ginny quickly shut that up.) 

Well there was nothing for it — Ginny washed her plate and teacup and went to go get ready — she would have to go to town.


End file.
